Shards of Broken Light
by Tiniin et Yoippari
Summary: Why does Bakura hate Yami? Why is Seto so cold? Why does their enmity last in the future? The answer lies in a forgotten past with a balance lost...


Shards of Broken Light

By: Tiniin et Yoippari (The Dragon and Nightowl)

**Author's note:** This is mine and my bro's first YGO fic. I'm the only one of the two of us who's seen the show, but I'll fix that pretty soon. This fic will have yaoi in it, mainly mentioned. Its sequels though will most likely contain lemon. There may even be a prequel. ^_^ Pretty much everybody's here. This is basically OUR view of what the guys pasts were like in Egypt. **And PLEASE review! Or my bro has threatened not to write anymore of it!!!**

_Italics=Thoughts_

**Shards of Broken Light Ch 1: Returning**

Eyeing the desert bound city below him, which lay quietly under a diamond sky, the white-haired youth scowled. Two years ago he'd looked over this city from a rise much like this one before leaving, thinking never to return. Two years and yet nothing had changed, not for those people. Just for him. Kneeing the lazing camel into a swift lope, he headed for the area of an old inn and even older friends who were no more expecting him than he had expected to return. 

            Reaching the outskirts of the city, he slowed down to begin the tiresome process of weaving through the small streets of the Thieves Warren. The only place still alive with the soft sound of sandaled feet, as was proven when a supposed robber moved to pull him from his saddle, only to find themselves being flung back by swift kick to the gut. Following the stumbling movement of the cloaked youth, the white haired man swung from his mount's saddle, after growling a command to the steady beast, graceful as a cat and with his dagger glittering in the hollow dark, just as deadly. Stalking his hunter turned prey, he cornered the staggering shadow against the wall, silver glinting dangerously as the night cool metal caressed the bared skin of the youth's throat. Eyeing his prey, he snorted softly, "You're a fool. I heard you following me three turns back when you tripped over that keg. When you hunt, silence is your keeper. Break it and there will be no prize that night, except perhaps your own death."

            Frustrated, amber-brown eyes met red. "Then get it over with already and stop with the teasing. It's not my fault thieving's not my forte. I'm only a doing it to survive."

            Smirking, he dragged the dagger lightly along the pinned youth's collarbone. "As is everyone else, boy. A word of advice then. When hunting mounted prey, use the roofs. Now come. You owe me your life, but instead I will have your service and mayhap I will teach you some of what I know before I depart." Sheathing the light blade, he moved to gather his mount's reins only to turn quickly, dagger flying with a flick of the wrist to pin the fleeing boy to the wall. "I wouldn't run if I were you, for I'll not spare you a second time."

            Snarling, the slight youth snatched the dagger from the wall, wincing as flesh met its edge, and raised it to attack the white-haired man only to find his arm held in the iron grip of a pale and calloused hand. "Let me go, damn you! I won't be your damned whore!"

            Wrenching the knife from his captive's hands, he eyed the stained blade before wiping it clean on the struggling youth's shirt, tensing slightly at the blunt statement before growling harshly. "I sleep with no one. Now come. My patience is at an end with you. Live or die. Choose now."

            "Fine. I'll come with you." Sullenly, amber eyes glaring, he jerked his hand from the now lax grip. 

            Mildly pleased with the situation, the white-haired stranger turned back to his mount, tugging lightly on the reins as he wove his way through the twisted streets, eyes staring straight ahead as he pushed back the memory of a similar night and its consequences. Crushing the roughened rope in his grip, he shook his head, willing the past to remain as it should: Dead.

            Turning a final corner, he smiled slightly, more an upturning of the lips than anything, as his gaze rested upon the time-worn sign with a colorful Phoenix painted upon it. "Here. Put him up in the stables around behind the Inn, then come inside…and boy?"

"What?"

"Don't forget your choice." Not waiting or caring to hear a reply, he turned and entered the Inn, pausing in the doorway while his eyes adjusted to the light.

"Welcome, dirty my floor and you're the one cleaning it…Hed…Bakura! You're back! Marik, Bakura's back!" Grinning broadly, Malik called to his darker half as he moved to swat his missing friend, dark violet eyes glinting with mischief as his light brown hair flowed back in the wind of his movement. 

Scowling slightly at the mention of his dead name, Bakura shook his head, not bothering to avoid the swat. Traditions should be honored, after all.

"I can see that," Spoke a voice from the shadows. Stepping beside his light, Marik smirked as he gave his old companion a once-over. "Good to see you're still whole. I take it you want your old room?"

Crimson met crimson as he shook his head. "That's a matter of opinion and yes I would, with two beds this time. And Malik, do see the scorpions sleep elsewhere. I'm not in the mood for a joke." Arms crossed he waited for his dark friend's light to comply.

"Fine, no scorpions. I'll even be nice and skip the snakes, at least for today." Chuckling softly he leaned against his dark and fellow business partner. "You know, Bakura, you take all the fun out of life some days"

Eyeing the pair, he noticed the contrast between them. Light complexion vs. dark complexion, violet vs. crimson, short vs. tall and voices of different timbres. So different and yet, like two puzzle pieces they fit; they were whole. Frowning he shook his head slightly. "A boy will be coming in shortly. See that he eats and places the bags in the room. Tell him I'll see him later and to remember his choice. For now, I have other business to attend to."

Sighing, Marik frowned, "You're going to see Him aren't you?"

Glaring, Bakura turned swiftly to leave as he had entered. "What I do, Marik, is no problem of yours."

Scowling, he watched the stiff back of his friend as he left. "As if the last two years hadn't proved that, Bakura. Just be careful. Malik and I aren't up to paying for any funerals this month." 

Nodding, the white-haired youth called back over his shoulder. "I'll see you in a few days." Stepping into the night's welcoming darkness he grinned ferally. 'I shall see Him, but who said he would see me?' Ghosting along the seemingly empty streets he quickly came to what he'd been looking for, an old building with a corner nook at the top. The perfect place to watch without being seen. 

Running his hand lightly along the rough and crumbling brick, Bakura found the first of many long-learned holds. Trusting his memory and skills, he quickly set to climbing the wall's face, weaving from shadowed grip to shadowed grip. Upon reaching the top he sequestered himself in the comfortable niche, satisfied that the blankets he'd used all those years ago during his vigils no longer covered the old brick. If they had still been there, then there would have been cause to worry over what trap was laid or who might appear. Finished surveying his roost, he turned his crimson eyes to look out upon the city, finally settling upon the window of his quarry.

_I wonder, have you kept your room, clung to the memories held within its walls, or did you do as I? Did you try to leave all you knew behind and let the past keep its own company, only to find no wall was strong enough to keep it at bay?_

Catching sight of a tall, wild-haired figure exiting to stand upon the balcony in loose, sun-toned garb, he smirked, eyes narrowing. Watching as a small breeze pressed the cloth tight upon the still form, he noticed that the once lean form now fell more to the side of too thin.

_So there you are, Priest. It seems you've stayed where you knew, though for remembrance I doubt. You love to torture yourself too well. I should know, for I do the same. Just as I should have known not to trust you as I did. I should have demanded that you both wait, but instead I asked only your word to protect and you failed. He who had lost only to the Pharaoh, failed. I suppose its fitting though, since the Pharaoh was behind it all and lucky for you that I can't kill him, for I gave my word and that is the one thing I'll not break, or next time we meet it would be to part. Wouldn't that be a sad state of affairs, my dear rival? We meet only to leave everything unfinished and tempting as it is to add to your misery I have other plans in mind. I've returned. And you shall know it upon my terms._

"And now I'll leave you to your darkness, for the Pharaoh owes me and I will collect some of that debt before the night is finished," leaving his hiding place, he descended to the ground and continued on to the palace, his hood raised and enfolding his face in the darkness he knew so well. Dodging the deaf and night-blind guards he easily found his way to the private gardens and from there to the window he sought. Eyeing the darkened opening, he smirked as his hand reached into an inner pocket and pulled out a small grappling hook with its thin, magicked rope. Swinging the darkened metal in lazy circles he released it at the top of the arc and watched it sail to its destination of the small stone jut above what he sought. Crimson eyes shining eerily, he tested its hold before climbing silently up the shadows of the wall, pausing beneath his destination to listen for a moment. Upon hearing the cries, which sounded from within Bakura shook his head, smirking as he easily swung up to seat himself upon the window. The sight which greeted him was the Pharaoh tangled upon his bed with another well muscled form.

"Well, well. So this is what the followers of Ra's Priest are for. I would have never guessed, if I hadn't already known."

  Stilling, the tri-colored head turned towards the derisive voice, to find only a glint of crimson amongst darkness. "Hedein."

 "So good to see you remember, Yami. Call me that again though and I'll not be held responsible for what happens." Idly twirling his smallest dagger he eyed the pair. "I am Bakura and drop your blade Asduin. I can't kill him and you know it, though that doesn't mean I don't wish to."

Sighing, the young ruler motioned for his lover to do as he was told. "I see you still blame me."

"I have as of yet no reason not to."

"Hed…"

A shift in the dagger's speed.

Resting his head in his hand, he tried once more to put forth his point. "Bakura…I had nothing…"

"Silence, Yami. You destroyed what you had no right to. You knew the dangers were greater with that decision than the other. Nothing will change that." Silver gleamed in the air, to land with a thud upon the bedstead. "Besides, I didn't come here to speak of that. I came to collect a small amount upon your debt. I want a room."

Raising his head from his hand, Yami nodded, moving to pull the cord resting beside his bed. "Of course. You can have one of the guest rooms."

"No." Rising from his perch, he glared at his one-time friend. "I want a small room, plain and cheap. I'll not have you escaping your dept so soon."

Meeting the angry gaze, Yami nodded. "Very well." _I meant to prevent harm, but I failed and am now one more friend short in a sea of sharks._

Waiting for the servant to come scrambling to answer his ruler's call, Bakura turned to Asduin. "The Priest?"

Glad to have some distraction from the tension charged atmosphere, he answered, "Depressed and spending too much time consulting his predecessors."

Snorting softly, Bakura shook his head, letting the dark hood fall and the silence settle, tense still, but no longer as sharp. 

The sound of the door opening drew all three stares and the servant in the doorway paused mid-bow to nervously eye them all.

"Escort Bakura to the Priestess Easyan and have her see to his care. Tell her to speak of this to no one. My guest has business to attend to and wishes to remain unknown until he sees fit to announce himself."

Bowing, the servant beckoned to Bakura. "As you wish, my Pharaoh."

Watching his old friend leave, Yami turned back to his lover, finding more comfort in his presence than his touch.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The offender was a peasant, as were all who were brought before Seto's careful analysis.  The highborn were often offered amnesty or lesser punishment in return for service or patronage; the peasants were placed under Ra's full scrutiny, sometimes to extremes.  Such unfairness was the corruption at the heart of the God-sworn.  But not with Seto.  Never with Seto.  The High Priest dealt not with those who fancied himself his equal; their arrogance made them blind, and blindness was their divine reward.  No, Seto preferred to work with the common folk.  Their eyes were open to the counterweight of superiority and redemption, and it made their repentance all the sweeter.

The Judgment Hall was empty.  The commoners were celebrating; today was the Festival.  The meager punishments doled out in the temple paled in comparison to the delights of jugglers and mountebanks.  Seto's eyes flashed; he was better off without an audience.  No sea of sympathetic eyes to question his decision, no wave of guilt-rising empathy to stir the frozen core of self-doubt in his spine.  Here was truth, simply given and simply taken.  Here was Ra in all his glory.

The Blade Magistrate stepped forward, motioning.  The temple guards brought forth the weeping man, clenched between them in an iron grip.  Seto's eyes flicked to the side, nodding, and the Blade Magistrate unfurled a scroll.

"The farmer Jacquen has been charged with the crime of murder.  Will the High Priest hear his testimony?"

Seto inclined his head slightly.  The guards pushed the peasant to his knees at Seto's feet and left him there, watching intently.  The farmer was overcome; he wept unabashedly, trembling before the High Priest's cold eyes.  

The High Priest was not inclined to hysterics.  When he spoke, it was with precision and economy.

"Speak, man.  Lay your crime before Ra, and embrace your judgment with an open eye and a regretful heart."

The farmer nodded and pushed himself upright, attempting to pull himself together.  He wiped his face with a grimy hand, the salt tears smearing the dirt on his palms.  The Blade Magistrate stirred, pulling out a handkerchief to give the man, but Seto glared at him and shook his head.  Chastised, the Blade Magistrate moved back into the shadows.

The High Priest returned his gaze to the peasant.  Avoiding his eyes, the farmer began to speak, his speech interrupted by violent hiccoughs.

"My – my lord – I came home early from the fields.  It was Festival, you see, and I wanted to make sure everything was ready.  But – but when I went inside the house, I found my wife – my – my wife – in bed with - - - -with our neighbor, Derence.  I was – I was overwhelmed, my lord, I didn't know what I was doing, I – I must have been out of my mind.  Suddenly, before I knew it, I – I – had taken Derence and – and – stabbed him with – with my skinning knife."  The farmer began to cry again.  "Then my wife, she – she tried to stop me – saying how it was all my fault, that she didn't love me like Derence did – and then I was – oh, High Priest forgive me – I was stabbing her, too."  The peasant fell to his knees, anguish writ across his face.  "Oh, please, my lord, please forgive me!  I – I had no idea – of the pain . ."

"A crime of the heart," Seto said gravely.  "Truly, at the root, the worst crime of all."  Delicately, Seto stepped down off the dais and knelt beside the weeping farmer.  The common man looked up, his eyes shining with water.  Seto returned his gaze, but there was little compassion in it.

"Do you feel yourself justified?"

The farmer wiped at his eyes.  "No, my lord, no!  No excuse for killing, none!"

"Isn't there?" the High Priest said, raising an eyebrow.

A confused hiccough.  "I – I thought not, my lord."

"Perhaps you are wrong, Jacquen.  Perhaps were all of us wrong.  Maybe there is a justification for something as heinous as murder." Seto returned to his seat on the dais, drawing azure robes tightly about him.  "Maybe betrayal is a worse crime."

The peasant had stopped crying, a look of puzzlement and caution masking his expression.  "Maybe, my lord."

Seto stared levelly at the man, then motioned for the Blade Magistrate.  "Asduin, bring to me the corpse of the man Derence.  The city shall know the result of treachery in marriage."

The Blade Magistrate bowed deeply.  "Yes, High Priest." He vanished into the shadows.

"My lord?"  The farmer moved closer to the dais, a note of desperate hope hovering in his voice.

Seto tilted his head, and for the first time smiled at his supplicant.  "Go, Jacquen.  I am feeling particularly merciful this day.  But speak of this to no one.  The murderers of the world must not know I harbor weakness."  The smile become conspiratorial, his eyes intent.

Jacquen stuttered, bewildered.  "My lord, I – I thank you!  I do not know what to say!"

The High Priest waved a hand.  "Say nothing, Jacquen.  Say absolutely nothing."

Without a word, the farmer turned on his heel, strode past the guards, and left.

The guards traded an unreadable glance, then came forward.  One of them, a lieutenant, spoke in a halting whisper.  "My lord High Priest . . . Jacquen's crime is inexcusable . . .he must be brought to judgment . . ."

Gleaming eyes grew cold and bleak.  "Do you question my loyalty to Ra?"

"Never, High Priest."

"I thought not."  Seto rose, leading the guards from the chamber.  Trading another glance, the guards followed him.

The High Priest led them out to a high balcony overlooking the great square.  The square was filled with noisy revelers and makeshift booths; the mad frenzy of Festival had taken the commoners.  Smiling, Seto waved an arm over the scene.  "Humanity, my warriors.  Humanity in all its wretched glory.  This is what Ra commends us to; the shepherding and guidance of a race that wants neither to be shepherded nor guided."  The High Priest's eyes unfocused slightly, taking in the sights of his people.  "Is it their folly or mine, I wonder?"

"Folly, High Priest?"

"Folly.  It is true folly that I exist to punish, yet – yet I have no true wish to do so.  It is simply what Ra instructs me to do."  Seto sighed, and if the guards hadn't known him better, they might have said that he looked . . .sad.  When he looked at them, however, there wasn't any trace of sadness in his gaze.  Rather, if anything, he appeared as determined and serene as they had ever seen him.  His voice was crystal.

"Follow him, my warriors.  Follow him into the crowd of the Festival," he gestured to the seething square, "and see that he does not come back out of it."

The guards had gone before he finished speaking.

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *                      

The Blade Magistrate returned sometime later after completing his errand and sought the High Priest in every corner of the Temple.  He found him at last in the crypt, intently studying the carved reliefs of the ancient High Priests.  The Blade Magistrate smiled, and came up quietly behind him.

"Seeking counsel from your predecessors?"

Seto smiled, but did not turn.  "Would that I could hear them speak.  What doubts would I have then?"

"No one doubts you but yourself, Seto.  The Pharaoh sleeps easy knowing that you speak for Ra."

"And how is it, Asduin, that you know so much of the Pharaoh's mind, hmmmm?"  Seto turned then, his eyes glittering.

Asduin's mouth twisted, but color rose slightly to his cheeks.  "I have heard him speak of it."

"Among the pillows, no doubt."

"That is not fair, Seto."

"I didn't mean it to be."  The High Priest began to walk off.

The Blade Magistrate watched him go. "Don't you want to know why I sought you out?"

Seto stopped.  "I assumed you wanted to let me know you had completed your task."

"Yes, of course," Asduin said, waving a hand dismissively.  "But that is not why I am here."

Seto cocked his head, folding his arms across his chest.  "Why, then?"

"I have news to relate."

"What news?"

The Blade Magistrate turned away, studying the wall carvings.  "Nothing important.  Just a trivial tidbit I thought you might be interested in."

"Asduin," the High Priest said, and there was command in his tone.  The Blade Magistrate sighed, and turned to meet his master's piercing gaze.  He bit his lip slightly.

"Bakura has returned," he said.

Seto dropped his arms.  "Has he?"

Asduin nodded.  "This morning.  He has been installed in the lower quarters – Priestess Easyan has taken charge of his care."  The Blade Magistrate turned away again, attempting to hide a smile.  "He's asked for you, you know."

"Indeed," the High Priest said, and there was such a forced ambivalence in his voice that Asduin almost laughed aloud.

"Yes, indeed."  A furtive glance.  "Shall I tell him you'll visit him later?  Tonight, perhaps?"

"I will announce my own visits, thank you, Blade Magistrate."

"High Priest, what ever is the matter?  Are you flustered?"

"I do not recall the meaning of the word 'flustered.' Perhaps you could clarify?"

The Blade Magistrate smiled broadly then, and moved past the High Priest to the door of the crypt.  "Never mind, my lord.  I'll convey your regard to Bakura."  His smile widened.  "I'm sure he'll be glad to hear it."

Seto listened as Asduin's heavy footfalls retreated up the stairs, away from the crypt.  For a moment, he stood perfectly still, his heart beating in his chest.  In his mind, the Blade Magistrate's silken baritone rumbled over and over.

_Bakura has returned.  Bakura has returned.  Bakura has returned . . ._

It was often said that the day of the Festival was a day of redress, of bringing the unresolved and incomplete aspects of one's life to full circle.  _If that's true, Seto thought, _the God has a truly morbid sense of humor_._

A moment later, the crypt was deserted.  The ancient carvings shimmered in the gloom, but it was only a trick of the light.


End file.
